CREATE
by collapsedstars
Summary: Year: 2056. CREATE: Chemically Regenerated and Environmentally Altered Terrestrial Entities. Molly Hooper: Pathologist for CREATE victims. Sherlock Holmes: Victim. -Zombie Apocalypse AU-
1. PROLOGUE: THE BEGINNING

**CREATE**

Chemically Regenerated and Environmentally Altered Terrestrial Entities

A/N: Hello! This is my first Sherlock fic, so this is exciting. Anyways, I was inspired a few days ago, when someone told me they thought an AU of a zombie apocalypse fit for almost any fandom in the world. Naturally, I thought of Sherlock. The prologue is a bit short, but I may expand later on, if I get any ideas. Anyways, the title of this fic is an acronym, as you may have guessed, and there is a lingo already established in this universe for it. But I'm sure you will figure it out as you go along, so let's see where it goes.

Enjoy!

* * *

"MOLLY! GET THE HELL AWAY FROM THE DOOR!"

Her father ran out with his gun, aiming directly at the peephole. There was a bang, and he skidded three feet from the force of the shot.

The gaping hole was filled with half of a head and the stench of a rotting corpse, while the man frantically attempted to reload his gun.

"Bloody hell…Molly, get away from here. I'm going to hold them off as long as I can."

"But Dad—"

"GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE, MOLLY! NOW!"

The stench grew stronger.

Her father started shooting again, cursing with each bullet.

The _things_ came closer, each one more hideous than the last, and she watched as the numbers became overwhelming and as the smell clogged up her nose, until all she could see of her father was the glint of the rifle.

"MOLLY!"

It wasn't a cry for help. It was his final order, and she knew better than to disobey him.

Hours later, a medic found the girl shuddering behind a trash bin, her face as pale as the creatures around them.


	2. ONE: VICTIM

**CREATE**

* * *

**A/N:** So, this is where the story really begins. This chapter is a little short, if only because I wanted to create a groundwork before the story begins to go really in depth. Thanks for reading, and please give me some feedback! It's a new approach (I think...unless there's another zombie AU out there?) and I want to see what you guys think.

Enjoy!

* * *

"She was found this morning, by the river. Teeth marks, but it's been hours. We need to know if it's a Copy Cat or if there's a possibility of a Rise." The Inspector crossed his arms and waited.

Sherlock gave a quick sweep over the body, which had turned the characteristic shade of grey. The fingertips were stained yellow and the nails had chunks of skin underneath them, but she was otherwise unharmed, with clean blonde hair and shapely features that indicated her as a member of the Upper Neighborhood.

"It's a Copy Cat. She has a lover; you should be able to find out about him from security footage. She's from the Upper Neighborhood with a failing marriage, and she works for a nuclear facility, mainly around uranium."

"But her department is in chemical research."

"Well, obviously, she's been meddling with other substances, which is why she's dead. Her lover killed her right after a rendezvous. He's an educated man, no doubt from her workplace, and he injected her with a serum that was covered up with teeth marks, thus killing several birds with one stone. But the marks are too straight, not jagged enough. They're not Creature bites; perhaps that of a house bred animal."

"So a Copy Cat? That's where you're at? "

"Lestrade, if you refuse to speak the English language properly and continue to begin sentences with prepositions, I will be forced to recommend—"

"Shut up, Sherlock. Anyways, I called you in is because we have someone certain that there will be a Rising in another hour or so. This victim is of relative importance and we need to know if she's not the work of a Copy Cat, or else we'll have some very angry and important relatives wondering why we denied the corpse a funeral."

"Who is certain, and why are they being an imbecile?"

"Don't be rude, Sherlock."

"If its Anderson, then even you can't deny he's an idiot."

Lestrade gave the man a frustrated glare, when the door swung open behind him.

"Inspector? I heard you were looking for me."

* * *

Dr. Watson was patrolling the quarantined area when he heard the news. He had to spend a brief minute trying not to hit someone with his cane before being heading down to the Inspector's office.

"Sherlock is an idiot, Inspector. Please don't—"

He stopped short as a small young woman turned around to face him.

"Oh. Um, sorry. I was looking for Inspector Lestrade."

The woman smiled and stuck out her hand. "Dr. Watson. I'm Molly Hooper, the head pathologist for Creature victims at St. Bart's. The Inspector's out for a moment, with Mr. Holmes."

John detected the slight coldness to his roommate's name, and smiled apologetically. "Sherlock's a bit clueless at times, Dr. Hooper. I'll have to apologize for whatever he's done."

Dr. Hooper gave a gracious nod before turning to the specimen in front of them, and John regarded the victim on the table for the first time. She had to be someone important to have been removed from the mortuary and transferred to the Inspector's own room. Most of the smell of the corpse was being sucked away by an air freshener on the desk, but the familiar stench of a rotting human still wafted around the room.

"Has she been bitten?"

Dr. Hooper gave a small shrug. "I think so, but Mr. Holmes has said otherwise. He was very adamant about the fact that this was a Copy Cat murder."

John winced at the thought of his colleague being adamant about something. "So she was a Copy Cat?"

The woman shrugged slightly, her head turning towards the files next to the body. "Mr. Holmes seems rather sure of himself, but I'm afraid it's a Creature bite. There'll be a Rise within the next hour, but I'm sure we'll be able to maintain it."

John looked back at the body, regarding the bite marks on the leg. They were still inflamed red against the grey skin, and torn raggedly. John raised an eyebrow.

"Dr. Hooper, I apologize, but are you absolutely sure it's a Creature bite?"

The pathologist turned from her papers, the corners of her mouth tightening.

"Yes, Dr. Watson. I'm sure."

John caught a glimpse of the look in her eyes and took a step back. "Alright, Doctor. Um, do you know where the Inspector has actually gone?"

Dr. Hooper was back to her papers, her shoulders shrugging in disinterest. "No. Mr. Holmes neglected to tell me. I suppose they've gone to look for evidence to prove Mr. Holmes correct."

John lifted his eyebrows, his knee twitching against his cane. "Right. Uh, I'll wait outside then. It was nice to meet you, Dr. Hooper."

The woman turned around, her face apologetic. She smiled sheepishly, all traces of the previous look in her eyes gone. "I'm sorry, Dr. Watson. I've been discourteous. I'm sure the Inspector will be back soon. Would you like some tea, while you wait?"

"Uh, no, thank you. I'll be just—"

"Ah, John. Here you are."

The door behind him swung open, and Sherlock strode in, barely flicking a glance towards the woman next to the body as he swept over the table, pulling out his glass and examining the bites. Dr. Hooper moved slightly away, her eyes growing colder.

"You'll be happy to note, Miss Hooper, that this woman is still a Copy Cat. There will be no need for the syringes. Pack her up and ship her to her family."

John cleared his throat, giving his colleague a pointed glance. Sherlock pretended not to notice, continuing his observations with the glass. Dr. Hooper raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

The three of them stood there in silence for an awkward minute. The tension between Dr. Hooper and Sherlock grew higher, as both refused to acknowledge each other, when John broke the silence, asking, "Sherlock, as a matter of profession, how do you know this body is a Copy Cat? Its symptoms match up with those of all the Creature victims, and you can't deny—"

"I know, John. I've observed. Miss Hooper, how long—"

"Dr. Hooper."

Sherlock blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"My name is Dr. Hooper, Mr. Holmes. I've worked for quite some time to earn the privilege of using that title. I'd like you respect that privilege."

John exchanged a glance with his flat-mate, who gave him a scornful roll of the eyes before turning back to the doctor. "I apologize, Dr. Hooper. But, as I was saying, this body will not be—"

"It will Rise, Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock gave her a withering look. "No, it will not. Dr. Hooper, The bite marks are remarkably similar to original teeth marks, but there is the problem about the lack of tears in the tissue. The 'fangs' have only gone through the epithelial cell layer, nothing more."

Dr. Hooper didn't reply. Her eyes remained fixed on the body, which remained cold and still on the steel table. At another glance from John, Sherlock refrained from rolling his eyes any longer and turned towards the paperwork besides him when-

"Mr. Holmes-"

There was a note of alarm in the doctor's voice.

Sherlock turned.

The body was sitting up, its eyes wide open.


	3. TWO: TOXIN

**CREATE**

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A/N: Hey guys! Thank you for all the reviews you left. I'm glad to see that people enjoy the idea… Anyways, I decided to establish a little backstory in this chapter, by setting up the world our characters live in. Tell me what you guys think, okay? Thanks for reading!

* * *

Panic was a word Lestrade had never really liked.

So perhaps using chaos was better. Or pandemonium. Even catastrophe was more favorable, in view of the events.

In any case, he still had to face an angry board and angry relatives and an angry Chief of Scotland Yard, who may or may not have been contemplating on removing all possibility of a pension for the Inspector, as well as a demotion to traffic.

Damn Sherlock Holmes.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Inspector Lestrade will now give his report."

Once again. Damn Sherlock.

He made his way up to the front of the room, aware of the raised eyebrows and scornful whispers that followed him. He tried not to care as he opened his files to a cool silence.

"On Tuesday, April 19th, 2056, the CREATE department of Scotland Yard discovered the body of Rachel Elizabeth Hendricks on the lower banks of the Thames river at 4:00 PM. Her time of death was 3:00 AM that same day. She was a white Caucasian female, aged 37, and is currently survived by her parents, her two older brothers, and her husband."

Lestrade paused, his eyes darting towards the mentioned family members. All five looked stern, rather than grieved, and raised an eyebrow at his audible swallow.

"Her cause of death was listed as poisoned by the toxin _Arboris Mors_, which stops all cardiovascular and neural functions. Her body was transported to St. Bartleby's Hospital, and examined by Dr. Molly Hooper, the head pathologist for CREATE victims. The victim was claimed as fully dead, despite the bite that marked her as a Creature victim, as well as other symptoms that CREATE victims normally exhibit. Simply put, Rachel Elizabeth Hendricks was a CREATE victim, and demonstrated the Rise-"

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

The Inspector stopped as phones across the room began ringing with text messages. A curious murmur grew throughout the room, as each individual opened their phones.

_Wrong. _

Lestrade raised his eyebrows as he looked at his own message. He presently looked up, glanced around the room, and then scowled.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please ignore your phones. It's just a prank hacker-"

The phones beeped again.

"Please turn off your phones-"

_Beep._

Lestrade looked down at his own phone, his face becoming grim. He gave a single nod towards Dr. Hooper, before seating himself by the podium.

_Let her speak._

* * *

Molly hated public speaking.

She wiped her hands once onto the white lab coat she had forgotten to change out of, before heading towards the front of the room. The room grew quieter as the audience watched the young woman curiously, as if she was a rat, trapped in a lab experiment.

Molly cleared her throat, and looked up.

A tall figure leaned by the doorway into the conference room, his characteristic black coat replaced with a suit and a tie. His face was half-hidden by a cap, which he touched in Molly's direction. She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes at his dramatics, and began her report.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I am Dr. Molly Hooper, the head pathologist of the CREATE department at St. Bart's. As you have heard from Inspector Lestrade's report, I examined the body of Rachel Elizabeth Hendricks, and pronounced it dead from _Arboris Mors _poisoning, which exhibits similar symptoms to Creature bites. The body exhibited the Rise two hours after the original examination, and was put down with the Calming Effect. The body was then burned, and the ashes were presented to the victim's family."

The figure in the doorway shifted in the middle of Molly's report, raising an eyebrow as she announced her _mistake_. Lestrade shot him a warning glance from across the room, and he settled down against the doorway again, listening intently.

"This incident, however, is not the first of its kind, and may be compared to 700 similar cases that has occurred within Scotland Yard. However, one unusual factor remains: the DNA. Most CREATE victims have the warped DNA of the Creature that attacked them. Their bite transmits a virus through the blood stream and into the DNA of various body cells to shut down organ systems within ten minutes from the attack. However, this virus retains the motor abilities of the victim, which is why these Creatures, once having Risen, are able to run and attack the general population.

"However, the body of Rachel Elizabeth Hendricks did not have this DNA."

The room remained silent. Molly swallowed as she saw the shock registering on the faces of the board, and plowed on with her report.

"At the moment, DNA samples have been taken from the victim and are currently being examined by the medical CREATE team in St. Bart's. Permission has been granted by the victim's family to do so. Unfortunately, further advances have been halted due to the fact that the full corpse was required in order to perform a thorough dissection of the body's mechanical functions. However, the DNA samples have been enough to be able to give us a hypothetical theory as to the victim's death."

Molly cleared her throat, and her words dropped like bombs into the silent conference room.

"The death was by a man-made toxin, which recreates all symptoms of a Creature bite."

* * *

"Bloody hell, Sherlock. And you didn't tell me this?"

"It's still hypothetical. I could still be wrong."

"You sat there for two nights without sleeping, just staring into that microscope. I don't think it's possible for you to be wrong."

Sherlock snorted, his eyes closed and his head leaning back onto the headrest of his armchair. "Your determination to believe in me is touching, but unfortunately, I was already proven wrong with Rachel Hendricks, and therefore I have reason to believe I may be wrong with my hypothesis. In fact, it would be better for society if I was wrong."

John rolled his eyes as his flatmate dramatically sighed, and examined the files on the DNA research that was still undergoing at St. Bart's.

"So, are you officially consulting? I saw Lestrade talk to you outside."

"The Head of the CREATE department isn't fond of the idea. At the moment, I'm denied access to most accounts of the case, but he still hasn't realized that I was the one who hypothesized and released the theory to the board. In any case, he shouldn't be the problem."

John looked up from the files. "_The_ problem? Is there a problem?"

Sherlock opened his eyes, his hands coming together as if he were praying. "Yes. There's a problem, and I'm not quite sure I know the solution to it."

"What problem?"

Sherlock steepled his fingers, bringing them close to his chest.

"Rachel Elizabeth Hendricks had her eyes open."

* * *

"Why is that a problem?"

Molly flicked away a stray piece of hair, and bent down over the microscope again.

"It's a problem because it's not natural. That toxin should have cut off sensory organs. Technically, the only way her eyes would be open is if she had died that way, and rigor mortis set in before anyone could close them."

"So...rigor mortis set in?"

Molly gave an annoyed glance at her intern before jotting down an indecipherable scrawl onto her notepad.

"The toxin caused her eyes to open. The toxin allowed her to keep her sensory organs. The toxin allowed a dead human to do something impossible. The question is, how?"

Her intern was saved from having to answer when the door swung open into the lab. Molly glanced up, her forehead creasing.

"Sergeant Donovan. What can I do for you?"

Donovan's face was grim as she handed the doctor a stack of files. "The Inspector needs a medical pathologist to consult in his investigation. We thought you would be most suitable."

Molly smiled. "I'd be happy to accept. When will I be meeting the Inspector?"

The sergeant checked her watch before glancing towards the door. "The freak should be here any minute. He'll update you on what's going on."

Molly frowned. "Freak?"

Donovan stared at her for a minute, trying to determine what kind of woman Dr. Hooper was. Finally, she gave a painful sort of smile, shook her head vaguely, and quickly ran out of the room.

Doctor Hooper had something unnerving about her eyes.


End file.
